Madman
by MorbidErasure
Summary: Katniss doesn't expect to see any familiar faces when she arrives at the Capitol, but is quickly reminded of a piece of candy and a boy with beautiful eyes from ten years ago.
1. Eye Candy

Exhaustion. That is all I feel, that and an isolated, nearly primitive sense of detachment. With a soft sigh, I sink into a chair, curling my legs onto it. The print of the fabric is odd and the shades hurt my eyes, but I'm getting used to the ridiculous color schemes of the Capitol by now. It makes no sense, that I have only just arrived here and already I feel drained. _Still,_ I think to myself, _if I fake a headache I won't have to deal with Effie, Peeta or Haymitch._ Immediately, I decide on this as my plan and close my eyes, allowing scenes from the past few hours to flicker over my line of vision. The Games are due to start in three days. I'll have to be ready by some standard of the imagination.

Prim, my mother...I wonder what they're doing right now. Prim is probably panicking, but I hope either her or my mother will stay strong. Gale will keep them safe, in any case. In my heart, I know it's pointless to be reflecting on home at this point in time, but I can't stop my thoughts from wandering to the sooty streets of District 12. Just then, my door opens and I look up somewhat guility, uncurling from my ball. A young man of about twenty-two stands in the dooway, hands at his sides. I examine him carefully but find no sign that the Capitol's freakishness has touched him. He keeps his chestnut brown hair cropped close to his head and dresses in simple clothes. The only thing I can see that is unnatural is a fine layer of gold eyeliner, and when he raises his gaze, I can see that there are similar, surely natural flecks in his pupils. Inexplicably I am drawn in by them, my own dark eyes meeting his. I am startled out of my hypnotized daze when he clears his throat.

"I didn't expect to find you here yet." He has a calming, quiet voice and I instantly relax giving him a once-over. He seems to be treating me to the same extensive scrutinization. My eyes land on his face and stay there, seeking the depths of his eyes. "I'm Cinna." he says. "I'll be your stylist for your interviews and the opening ceremony." Just then, my eyes widen and I freeze, aware that I am staring but too shocked to care. The scenes of home that I have been comforting myself with disappear, to be replaced with images from ten years ago.

_I was cold. Standing on the side of the street with my mother, I gripped her and my father's hands tightly. I didn't know what was going on, and my grey eyes looked out at the people walking down our street in incomprehension. My mother stood on my left, long blonde hair flowing down her ragged cloak, and my father stood on my right. In front of me was a strange procession and I stood on my tiptoes, not knowing what to do._

_ A line of seven people filed down the street, coming toward us. My two-year-old sister Prim clutched at my father's leg, big blue eyes nervous. As the people got closer, I peered at them curiously. At the front was a boy about eight years older than me with pumpkin-orange hair and teasing green eyes. Behind him were two girls, one around eleven and the other about thirteen, wearing brightly colored dresses, both with dark hair. Following was a man I recognized as the president, or at least that was what my mother called him when she talked about him in her whisper voice. At the back were two other girls, both around twenty, one wearing a garment that covered her entire body in a shiny black, and the other in a fitted red dress. The procession got closer to me and I tugged at my father's sleeve._

_ "Daddy, who are they?" _

_"They're from the Capitol, sweetheart." he answered in his gravelly voice. I blinked._

_ "Oh. Does that mean they're bad?"_

_ "I don't know, Katniss."_

_ They were right in front of us now. The girl in the shiny outfit stopped them, talking in a clear, cold voice that sounded like she was irritated or tired. "Are you all prepared? We're to interview some of the residents here as part of your training. You might design for some of these people someday, if you make it. Flavius, you seem to be the most personable, so you're with me." The boy with the orange hair looked up, and I thought to myself that his name must be Flavius. Funny name._

_ "Well, Venia and Portia are friendly too, Maya, but they're a little shy." The two girls in the dresses shifted like they were nervous, the older one tilting her head at the name Portia. She must be Portia. She looks nice, but a little scared. I wonder if my parents will be mad at me if I go and give her a hug._

_ "My point exactly." Maya turns to the one that looks to be her age, giving a sigh. "Octavia, you're with me too. Cinna?"_

_ A boy who I didn't notice, around twelve, before stepped forward from the back of the group. He had dark brown hair and was dressed in a tank top and black pants. His head was down and I wondered if he was sad, but when he looked up he just looked tired. "Yes?"_

_ "If you'll stay with the others...they seem to like you." I frowned. Maya doesn't seem to like anyone very much. Cinna just nods, looking down again. The president clears his throat and they begin to keep walking. I stepped towards Cinna a little, trying to get a good look at him. At the same time my mother reached for my arm, Cinna looked in my direction. My eyes widened and I stared at him. I could see from here that Cinna had pretty golden spots in his eyes. After a second, I burst into a smile, giving him my sweetest grin. He blinked and stopped, looking surprised. The others didn't seem to notice, going on ahead of him. Cinna paused and my mother reached for me again, but I darted out of her grasp, running to Cinna's side. _

_ He looked down at me and gave a little smile, tilting his head to the left a little bit. Still with my smile on my face, I reached for his hand and giggled, clasping it between my own. _

_ "You have pretty eyes, Cinna!" The corners of his mouth twitched, and he finally grinned back at me. I couldn't look away. He had a pretty smile, too._

_ "Thank you." he answered quietly, patting my head and ruffling my hair a little bit. "What's your name?"_

_ "My name is Katniss!"_

_ "Katniss, huh? Nice name." I opened my mouth to reply, but the president turned around in front of him._

_ "Cinna." he snapped. Cinna's smile disappeared and he looked annoyed, nodding in his direction._

_ "Coming, sir." When the president turned back around, he knelt down in front of me, talking in an even quieter voice. "It was nice to meet you, Katniss. Here's something for you, just don't tell anyone, all right?" Cinna drew out a red and white striped candy from his pocket, wrapped in clear plastic. It made a crinkly sound as he pressed it into my hand. This was the kind of candy which Daddy sometimes brought home on feast day. I gazed at it, then looking back to Cinna and giving him a solemn nod._

_ "I won't tell. Thank you, Cinna!"_

_ "My pleasure." With a last small smile at me, he got up and followed the president, flashing me a small wave behind his back. My parents drew me back again, and I had already tucked the candy into my too-big dress. Cinna was a nice boy, I could tell._


	2. It's Still You

**Thank you to the person who suggested I write this chapter in Cinna's POV- I did deliver. **

I'm unsure of what to do. She's just sitting there, gazing off into space, looking both too strong and too weak to be bearing this on her shoulders right now. Her dark hair falls over her face and my gaze flickers to her slate grey eyes, then to the intricate braid that trickles down her slender shoulders. Feeling like I must be interrupting some subconscious thought process of hers, I kneel, gently tucking a hand under her chin. With a startled shudder, quickly masked, she looks up at me.  
>"Oh...I'm sorry, what were you saying?" she asks me in a voice that I could swear sounds vaguely familiar. It has its own rhythm in the way it flows roughly through the air, so different from the accents I've grown accustomed to. I stepped back a little, dropping my hands from her face and trying for a soothing smile. Her eyes widen barely noticably and, seeming to be correcting herself, she gives a tiny shake of her head. I don't know whether to think she's nervous...or not entirely sane. I don't think I'd blame her if the latter was the case.<p>

"Nothing that important. Are you all right?" I ask her. However, I'm not exactly focused on my words because I'm trying to place her, this steely girl who stepped forward for her sister. Her name was announced- of course it was, and I should remember, considering it's all over the Capitol, but I can't seem to put my finger on it. Even besides that, though, I could swear she looks and sounds familiar.

"Fine, thanks. It's nice to meet you, Cinna." Her tone has kind of a strained politeness that doesn't sound right on her. Not wanting her to get the wrong impression of having to act proper around me, I wave my hands dismissively.

"The pleasure's mine. You can calm down a little, don't worry. I'm not here to reprimand you." I tell her. In response, I get a slightly bemused look but a nod. "I'm probably the only one who will ask you this, seeing as you're famous by now; and I feel rude as it is, but what's your name?"

"My name's Katniss. Katniss Everdeen." I pause, frowning slightly. The name causes a tickling up my spine that makes me even more sure that I know her, or at least did. I almost open my mouth to ask her if I do, but decide against it on the grounds of keeping her relaxed.

"Well, Katniss, do you mind if I sketch you for a little while? It might help me with ideas on how to present you to your public." Katniss looks torn, but eventually motions toward the chair across from hers.

"Go ahead, I don't mind."

I take a seat, pulling a small notebook out of my pocket and a pencil from the inside of my sleeve. I feel Katniss' eyes on me, but I don't look up. Flipping to the first available page, I tap the pencil on the binding of the notebook and label the top with her name. Then I turn all of my attention to this girl, raising my eyes from the paper.

She sits with her hands folded at the seams of the seat cushion, as if to take flight at the slightest sound. At first, her eyes scan the world outside the window like she would rather be anywhere but here. At my hand motion, she rests her eyes on my face. My hand plots out a detailed web of pencil strokes on the paper, but I'm not really paying attention to my work. No, instead my eyes rest on her, drinking in her stature and her expression. Katniss Everdeen looks tense, yes, defiant even, but there's a determination on her face that I have to admire. If I myself was a contestant in these Games, I would hope for people to see me the same way.

But of course, that's impossible. Where I live now and my job has dictated that I will never have to compete in the arena. Besides the fact, I'm too old. Privately, my opinion of these competitions would surely get me executed. I see them as nothing but a horrible way to wave authority over the heads of the Districts, who depend on the Capitol for their own lives. There is proving a point, and then there is going too far. Of course, I'm one of them now as well. I suppose that makes me as bad as them- the Gamemakers, the Peacekeepers, President Snow.

I was from District 8 originally, before I was taken to the Capitol at twelve years old. My family was, naturally, in the textille business. I had an older sister, who I last saw four years ago when she was killed for trying to instigate a rebellion. Her name was Maya, and she thought she was safe because she worked in the Capitol. No, I can't say I don't remember what life in the Districts is like, because I would be lying. Granted, District 8 wasn't as bad off as some others, but I remember all too well the threat of the government hanging over my family's head like a guillotine. Katniss' reaction to the Capitol, which she has tried to keep hidden, doesn't surprise me. She must think we're all monsters.

My mind drifts back to the morning when Maya and I were brought here along with four others. The procession through the Districts, which at the time seemed exciting to me, and the president at our sides. I didn't care for him even then, and the taste of bitterness still stings like bile in my mouth. To be honest, I can't remember much about the day, only that I met a girl. I frown and adjust my grip on the pencil, trying to form an image in my head.

_"You have pretty eyes, Cinna!"_ the girl had told me. I smile as I remember her, the one with the too-big dress and wide, trusting eyes. What had her name been...?

I lose my grip on the pencil and it goes tumbling to the floor as my brain finally makes the connection. The connection between that girl of ten years ago and that of the one sitting in front of me now. The two Katnisses, the same person now older, still with the same trust in her eyes- but now etched as someone who wants to trust others, but won't.

I'm shaken out of my daze by the warm touch of fingers on my own as Katniss stands from the floor, pressing the pencil into my hand. With a blink, I accept it and adjust my notebook on my lap. Now she is the one who looks slightly concerned, a confused frown creasing her mouth.

"What's wrong?" she asks me.

"Oh, nothing." I reply calmly, only putting my pencil to the paper once again and beginning to carve out her cheekbones. "Just lost in my thoughts again."


	3. Someone I Used To Know

**A/N-I'm not going to bore you guys with my commentary for too long, but I just wanted to thank everyone who's reviewed and given suggestions and comments. I'll try to be more diligent in updating since my friends practically molest me for each new chapter, thus chapter four will be up tomorrow. Also, due to inspiration from an anonymous comment, I'll be switching between POVs. This one happens to be in Katniss'.**

I examine Cinna, trying to detect what caused his sudden slip in demeanor. It was only for a second, but I could swear something flashed in his eyes when he looked at me. Whatever it was, it's gone now. His relaxed, calm twitch of a smile is back and he assembles his hand's position on his notebook again, giving me a casually appraising glance. His interest is so natural that I relax a little, adjusting my stance in the chair to a more comfortable one. Cinna pauses and studies me for a second before nodding his approval, only rotating his wrist to assume a different angle on the page. I can't help wondering how he's going to present me- "To your public" he said. I stifle a scoff as I think of what, exactly, granted me this audience he refers to. A long period of silence ticks by, and though it may be awkward on my end, Cinna is too focused for such. His tongue protrudes from his mouth slightly and runs along his top lip, his eyes directed at his sketch in deep concentration. Eventually he glances upward, favoring me with yet another glance.

"How do you feel, Katniss?" he asks me, setting the notebook to the side for the moment. I frown slightly, having been about to ask him the same thing.

"Fine, as well as I can be, I guess. Why do you ask?" The last line comes out biting, an automatic reflex from my general distrust of others, and I instantly regret it. Cinna either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it.

"Just curious. I know it can't be easy, and I'm sorry." His willingness to spit out a casual, sincere apology for not only himself but the entire Capitol catches me off guard.

"It's fine." I mumble half-heartedly, not knowing what to say. He lets a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"What do you think of us, in an honest sense?" At this question, it's soon apparent that I will never know exactly what to say around Cinna. I take several moments to consider how to answer, then discard the idea of a perfected one. He's told me to relax, and it isn't like he can incriminate me if I tell the truth. Ignoring the sensors that warn me against it, I open my mouth.

"I'm not going to pretend like I can speak for all of the Capitol, but I think making us fight and kill each other makes anyone who enjoys it a despicable person." He doesn't show the normal reaction of outraged defense that I'd expect from most people, just a vaguely interested look as he picks up the notebook again.

"Not surprising." is all he says. I have to assume that he isn't allowed to give a personal opinion on the topic, so I don't pressure him. "Now, would you like to see your sketches?" I nod and cross over to his chair, leaning on the arm. Cinna flips open the notebook, and instantly I am drawn in.

He has covered the entire page with bones of outfits and portraits of me, the latter drawn in the corners. Rickety handwriting captions these sketches and I squint, but cannot decipher it. My eyes flicker to a head shot of me in the top left corner and I'm stricken by his drawing ability. For whatever reason, it seems he has spent quite a lot of time on my eyes, which leap out from the page, wildly alive. Cinna traces a finger down the page, examining his work. "What do you think of them?"

"They're very good." I answer softly, still somewhat taken aback. "Beautiful, actually." He seems pleased and picks up his pencil again, tapping it on the paper.

"All right. What are your favorite colors, Katniss?"

"I like green- and navy blue."

"I'll remember that." He jots it down and flips the notebook closed. His refined mannerisms cause my next question to jump out of my mouth without thought.

"Cinna, where do you come from?"

"I was born in District 8. I'm 22." the stylist replies. I guess I thought he was born in the Capitol, but I realize now what a stupid idea that was. That wouldn't explain his visit to my district a decade ago. I stop my thoughts before I can drift off again.

"So why did you come here?" It's highly likely that I already know the answer.

"My family needed money, and my sister and I had talent. I came here to learn how to design for the tributes ten years ago. We went through every one with the president when I was just twelve. When we went through a certain district…well." Cinna stands up, pocketing his notebook and giving me a final smile over his shoulder as he heads to the door. "Let's just say I met someone very memorable that day. I haven't seen her for a while, but I think I've found her again." With that, he gives me a nod and exits the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.


	4. Burning For You

**A/N- And we're back in Cinna's POV. If no one minds, could you tell me which POV you like better? I know I prefer to write in Cinna's POV, but I was just wondering.**

I'm awoken by the sunlight streaming through the window onto the foot of my bed. Sitting up from underneath the covers, I blink the sleep from my eyes and swing my legs out of bed, stifling a yawn. The smudge of exotic colors dotting the sky, a pastel array of violet and clementine clouds, tower over the iron-laced buildings of the Capitol. Today is the day of final training and mentor interaction- tomorrow, the tributes and their prep teams will be transported to the main section of the Capitol, where their publicity will begin. Today, my work begins.

I dress in a close-fitting olive shirt and slender-leg dress pants after my shower, running a hand over my hair. It's slightly longer since I haven't combed it, and I gather the back of it into a slightly spiked tuft at the nape of my neck. Although it's silly, I take a glance in the mirror and stare into my own eyes, remembering the words of the child from ten years ago.

Soon enough, I arrive at the dining area downstairs, where it is lit by the rosy, spreading glow of globe lights placed on the tables. Each district has either a separate dining room or a separate dining time, and I'm not sure whether I'm intruding on one of these or not. However, one of the attendants I know well waves me to go ahead. Being a morning person, I'm not very sluggish as I serve myself some of the decadent foods. This consists of lightly browned bread with a spread of melted blue cheese, sweet chunks of apple drizzled with some fashion of sugar syrup, and two strips of bacon. As for beverages, I merely sit down with a glass of pineapple juice and flip open my notebook on my lap, barely paying attention to my food.

Yesterday with Katniss...I'm not sure how to describe it. I was shocked, shocked at how much the little girl from ten years ago has changed. She's still there. I just know she is, but she's had to adapt as she's gotten older. I wonder what I can do to make her smile like that again...and this girl, this stoic huntress from District 12, has become a quiet kind of beautiful that I've never seen before. Looking down, I see that I have absentmindedly started a sketch of her face on the inside cover of my notebook. Confused, I tuck my pencil into my pocket just as four people file into the room.

It's the District 12 team. First to enter is the blonde boy tribute- Peeta, I think- who seems to be battling emotional weariness. Second is District 12's mentor, whose furrowed brow tends to indicate that he's suffering from a severe hangover. I roll my eyes. Following cautiously after is Effie, who is still wearing that ridiculous pink wig of hers. Last is Katniss, keeping in a yawn as she trails after Effie. I make to stand up, not knowing if I should take my meal to another room, but Haymitch waves me down.

"You're her stylist, right? Stay." he tells me gruffly. I nod and slowly relax, glancing at Katniss. She lets a smile twitch at the corners of her mouth upon sight of me and raises the tips of her right hand in a wave. I wave back, and after picking up breakfast the four take seats around the table- Effie as far away from Haymitch as physically possible, Peeta next to Haymitch. After careful consideration of Effie and Peeta, Katniss takes the seat between Effie and I.

"Good morning." Katniss says, giving me a real smile now. It's slight, but it's there. I don't hesitate in grinning at her.

"Same to you. How did you sleep?"

"Much better than at home." Her voice drops and the grin slowly fades from her face. "But at least home feels right. Here just feels..."

"Restricted?"

"Yes, that." the girl agrees. I know exactly what she means. Though I've lived here for as long as I have, I've never really gotten over it. But I comfort her anyway.

"Well, don't worry. Today we'll get to work on your outfit, and I swear you can make something frilly and feminine for me if you don't like what I design for you." A startled laugh comes out of her and she nods, turning slightly more towards me.

"I'll be sure to remember that."

We start on our meal and I attempt to tune out the constant chatter of Effie, sipping at my pineapple juice and sketching under the table. Haymitch is ignoring food altogether, and is either suicidal or an idiot, because he is sipping from a flask and there's a good chance it's not cranberry juice. Katniss shows visible disdain at this, but ignores it in favor of her own meal. However, at her first sip of the hot chocolate, her face becomes alight with wonder. I laugh as she sips it eagerly.

"No one's going to take it away from you, Katniss." Immediately, I realize how cruel that must sound to a girl who has to hunt for her food, not pick it off of silver platters. "I'm sorry, that was insensitive." She actually appears surprised that I am issuing an apology and nods shortly, setting the empty mug back on the table.

"It's all right. So what's your plan, Cinna?"

"My plan is to make sure that everyone in the audience gets it into their lofty heads that you've got real potential. We'll make them pay attention, got it?" I state. The girl nods, a determination setting into her eyes. I have a feeling that she thinks her and I are going to get along well.

"Right." There's a pause while she starts on a bit of fresh fruit she's picked up, and then she turns to me again. Her question comes out of nowhere and I blink for a second, completely surprised. "Cinna, what do you think I should do?"

"What do you mean?" I ask her.

"In the arena. Everyone's going to be playing up some sort of angle. I don't know what mine is." Katniss hesitates, looking directly at me. "I'm asking you because you seem like someone I can trust. Am I right?"

"Yes, you're right. You can trust me." I tell her. "Let me ask you something first. Are you afraid?" This is obviously a sore topic because she hesitates, not wanting to answer. Finally, she does, and we're speaking in an undertone because Effie and Peeta have started to pay attention.

"Who wouldn't be?"

"Exactly. Who wouldn't be? Just remember that everyone in the arena is like you. They're as afraid as you are, if not more. The difference between you and them is," I hold up a finger, "how you choose to control it. If they let their fear make them slow, then you're better than them." My words relax her and I feel a sense of accomplishment, knowing I've said the right thing. Still, I don't think it's wise to stay on this topic. Instead, I bat a stray strand of hair out of her face, then reaching to touch the braid that rests on her back. "Your hair looks beautiful." A tiny blush appears on her cheeks.

"Thank you." Just then, I feel eyes on me and look up, startled. The boy tribute is positively glaring at me, one hand on his fork and the other on the napkin he's holding. I raise an eyebrow at him and he balks a little, now aiming a carefully neutral expression in my direction. What could I have done to him? Then I follow where his gaze goes next and realize what his problem is. Peeta is gazing at Katniss with the unmistakable look of infatuation in his eyes.

A sudden, bitter wave of burning jealousy roars through me and I grip my right knee with the corresponding hand, wondering why I have the sudden urge to throttle Peeta with my bare hands. Katniss is completely oblivious, only taking another bite of her food. I direct my gaze away from Peeta, instead staring at the wall blankly. I can't remember the last time I got this worked up, and I'm a calm person by nature.

Eventually, the burning goes away, but I don't dare to look at Peeta again. Instead, I turn to Katniss, who has finished with her food and tilts her head to the side at my glance. "Katniss, are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." she responds.  
>"That's exactly what I wanted to hear." With that, I stand, pushing in her chair for her after she's stood. We head out the door, leaving the babble of Effie and the jealous baker's son behind.<p> 


	5. Beautiful Eyes

** A/N- Again, I'm not going to bore you guys with my commentary for too long, but we're back in Katniss's POV to clear up any confusion. I'm probably gonna write in mostly Cinna's from now on because it's a) more fun and b) more engaging, but I'll be sure to put in Katniss POVs when needed, because they **_**will **_**be needed. I'll try to update as often as I can, but I'm doing this and toying with the idea of doing a songfic about these two. That is all.**

The taste of the deliciously sweet hot chocolate still lingers on my tongue and in my mouth as I follow Cinna down the hall. He has his hands floating lightly at his sides, but a barely perceptible frown lingers on his lips and if I'm not mistaken, he's gritting his teeth. Wondering what's wrong, I reach out and lightly tap his wrist. He looks up in surprise, stopping in front of a honey-colored wood door.

"Cinna, what's wrong?" I ask him. The stylist blinks, then shakes his head, clearing his features.

"Oh, nothing. Just dazed, is all." For whatever reason, I don't quite believe him, but I'm not sure how to ask.

"About what?"

"Whenever I have a job to do, I go in my own world." he replies calmly. I still have the sneaking suspicion that he's not telling me the whole truth, but this time I let it drop. Cinna opens the door and reaches around me to flip a light switch. Temporily I'm blinded, but then my eyes start to adjust.

The room is lit by a soft mid-afternoon glow, coming from intricate spirals extending from the ceiling, which hold tinted tea lights. All these spirals are connected to a delicate white chandelier. There is a narrow wooden bench along the left wall and it is littered with exquisite fabrics. Soft plush velvets, glimmering sheets of satin, silk branded with exotic prints. A sewing machine sits on the corner of the bench next to a pile of notebook papers. Two chairs and a loveseat with a dressform are situated to the right next to an easel, and he leads me over.  
>"Take a seat?" he asks me, occupied at his easel with a piece of chalk. I sit down on the loveseat, sinking my hands into the cushy fabric. Cinna extracts the infamous notebook from his pocket and flips it open, checking it while muttering to himself. He's obviously done some work in yesterday's evening hours, for I can see more refined outfit designs etched on the pages. Subconsciously, he glances over towards his workbench. Following his gaze, I see several folded-up garments of striking colors. I can't help but grin. Cinna is beginning to make me curious, and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm excited to see what he's made for me. I like this man, just as I took an instant liking to the boy with the candy. Cinna makes some mysterious lines on the easel and wags a finger at me when I try to lean around to take a look. "No, silly, you have to wait and see." he teases.<p>

"That's not fair, now is it?" I reply with a small smile, shaking my head and leaning back. It takes him a second to reply, as he is in a state of deep concentration.

"Ah, can't wait, can we? See, my plan's already worked." With a good-natured chuckle, he turns toward the workbench and walks up to the bundles, fingering the fabric. Cinna picks up a navy blue bundle and lets it unfold from its folded pile, shielding it from me with his body. Again, I lean around to try to get a good look, but he grins and hangs it over his right arm. "Close your eyes." Slowly, my eyes close and I fold my hands together in my lap. The quiet tap of Cinna's shoes click across the floor, and I'm aware of a burst of air caressing my face as he stops in front of me, kneeling. "Now open them, Katniss."

I open my eyes and am instantly shocked into silence. Cinna is adjusting an absolutely beautiful garment, the color of deep sapphire skies, on the dressform. The dress collects in swaths of pinned-back pleats at the waist and it has thin halter straps, but fabric curls around the back and forms separate long sleeves on the arms. The sleeves are alive with idented flames, licking up the arms. On the sides of the dress, in diagonal slits of material, are colors of emerald green and teal, shimmering with delicate threads of pearl-substance. While I stare, Cinna places a black headband, formed in the shape of a rose vine, over the neck of the dressform.

"What do you think?" Cinna asks softly, watching my face. Slowly, a smile tugs at my lips, and then I burst into a grin, standing up from my seat. I walk to the dressform, reaching out a hand.

"Can I...?"

"Of course." I stroke the fabric lovingly, amazed at how soft it is. The man only folds his hands together, watching me. After a second, I turn to him, awestruck.

"Cinna, this is...this is amazing." Words do not seem to be enough for what he has created for me. He ducks his head slightly, seeming to be embarrassed, but I can see that he's pleased.

"Would you like to try it on beforehand?" There's no hesitation in my nod and he lifts the garment off the dressform, draping it over his outstretched hands as he hands it to me. The headband follows. "There's a dressing room in the back, if you want." However, I have no thoughts other than this dress.

I'm not usually the type to reveal so much of my skin in front of others, but I don't take him up on his offer of the dressing room. Instead, I set the dress and headband carefully on the loveseat and pull off my shirt, blushing a little as I drape it over the top of the loveseat. Cinna raises an eyebrow, but looks away in a gentlemanlike fashion as I remove my pants. They soon join my shirt and I reach for the dress again, carefully pulling it over my head. Reaching back, I pull my braid from where it has collected under the dress. I step towards the side of the room, where a mirror leans against the wall, but am stopped when I feel the touch of hands on my back. Cinna tugs the zipper of my dress where the halter and back separates up slowly, then reaching up to smooth away a stray tendril of hair.

"There. You're perfect." Hand on my back, he lifts his other to cover my eyes and guides me over to the mirror, pausing before he lifts his hand away.

I'm speechless. Cinna has created an absolute masterpiece. He has made me not just unique, but a tribute to be remembered as something special. The dress hugs my body where appropriate and the sleeves flow down my arms, cool against my skin. My dark hair hangs down on either side of my face and I gaze at myself, incredulous. Cinna pulls me gently towards him to place the headband on my head. A smile is now not only on his lips, but in his eyes.

"Katniss, you're beautiful." he whispers, looking intently into my eyes. Shocked by his sincerity, a blush heats my face and a strange feeling tickles in my chest.

"T-thank you, Cinna. You're amazing." I tell him. Cinna shakes his head.

"You're the girl on fire now, Katniss. It's your own little spark you have there." Clearing his throat, he examines me for a few seconds more before adding, "I take it that the second one I had-"

"This one's perfect."

We resume our earlier positions, him at his easel and me at the loveseat as I redress in my normal clothes. My beautiful dress goes back on the dressform, but Cinna waves a hand at the headband.  
>"You can keep it on, if you like." My hand goes to it and I nod again, indeed wanting to keep it with me.<p>

"Thanks, Cinna. I should probably get back to Haymitch and Effie now, but thank you so much." I can't help but notice that his eyes, before so focused on his easel and sketches, now flicker to me every now and then and linger for a little longer than politeness demands. _His pretty, hypnotizing eyes with the golden flecks, gazing into mine..._ Cinna looks up as if on cue.

"My pleasure, girl on fire. Oh, and I have one more thing for you, before you leave." He stands, walking over to me. The stylist reaches into his pocket and kneels, and I raise an eyebrow, not knowing what he's doing. Cinna pulls a wrapped peppermint out of his pocket, placing it into my cupped hands. My eyes widen in surprise and I close my fingers around it, looking up at him.

"Do you...Ten years ago?" He nods.

"Yes, Katniss. I never forgot. And I have to say, just so we're clear on who gets credit...you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."


	6. It Starts Now

**A/N- I must apologize for not updating this story in almost a month, and again for having absolutely no excuse for doing so. My brain simply **_**died**_** on this for no apparent reason, but I'm back now and depending on my satisfaction with this chapter, I may update again tomorrow, no longer than three days I promise. In addition to this, I'll be writing several more Hunger Games fics. Please review this one if you haven't done so already- I would love to know what you think and highly appreciate all the reviews I have already gotten. This chapter is where the mostly-Cinna's-POV kicks in, so don't expect Katniss POVs for a while. Also, she's just so **_**oblivious **_**sometimes. I like being the stylist much better.**

I don't see much of the girl on fire for the rest of the day, but I hear whispers. Apparently, Katniss is giving the lovely Effie Trinket no shortage of headaches with her 'complete lack of ladylike sensibilities' and 'you'd think the girl was born in a barn'. This amuses me to no end. Effie doesn't seem to take into account that Katniss doesn't have the lofty, self-righteous tendencies she does, but my Katniss is perfectly fine in my opinion.

_My Katniss_. The words even surprise me as I sit in my room, picking at some sort of spread and crackers. For whatever reason, I haven't been able to focus on much of anything for the past few hours. This morning was nothing short of spirit-lifting, so it's not frustration I feel. Eventually, I finish the food and stare blankly out the window, drowning in my own thoughts. Suddenly, I know what it is.

What it is, is my Katniss. The fact that I use the possessive word in my own thoughts only echoes the realization I sit here with. The little girl I remember from a decade ago is gone, withered away until she stands as nothing but a skeleton of shattered memories. Only the absence of the younger Katniss is not altogether tragic, for she's grown into an amazing girl. I want for nothing from her, do not want to change her and distort her like so many others in this place would, and form her into some grotesque image of inhumanity. The only thing I wish from the girl on fire is to see her smile again, to see her eyes shine and to hear true happiness in her voice again.

Then another realization hits me.

This girl is going to die. I will be forced to watch her pass away, either in a gruesome bloodbath or the causes of the torturous Capitol. I'm not naïve enough to think her resolve will fade, for she has someone to fight for back home. Just as I carry on for memories of someone, her actions are for someone she's left behind at home. Her sister. Nothing changes the dynamics of this game, though, and Katniss Everdeen is most likely going to die in these Games and leave her family and friends ripped to pieces. Anger and a throbbing, resounding pain spread through me, leaving a burning, stinging patch in my stomach. I did not reunite with someone I used to care about, even though it was only for a minute, to watch her die!

I stand up from my chair so fast that it flips backward and hits the carpeted floor with a dull thud. The back chair legs bang me in the back of the legs and a sharp jolt occurs as they make contact with my kneecaps, but I do nothing except kick the chair away. Half-aware, I pick up the plate and hurl it at the wall, ignoring the splintering crack and the shower of glass to the floor.

The perfect, shimmering hub of the Capitol floats outside the window, a façade of the supposed salvation that everyone's supposed to want. I am not everyone. When have I ever been? A rabid acrimony rises in me and I clench my fists, eyes locked on the kaleidoscope sky. A blood-hue hangs over the buildings. How fitting is this, the day before a glorified crucifixion begins?

This is _wrong._ I've been kidding myself for so long that this is necessary. That perhaps the loss of lives pales in comparison to the peace of the general public. That my sister died because of her own recklessness, and that her ideas of a rebellion were nothing but ridiculous dreaming. That I'm a cookie-cutter replica of the rest of this salivating crowd, and will always remain so. I refuse to believe this any longer. Somehow, I will make a difference in this unfair balancing act. Still, I have to stop and wonder where my sudden determination has come from. My concentration on the morbid, crayon-hued sky is broken as I delve into my own mind. Katniss Everdeen is where my determination has taken its roots. Why I care so much about the fate of this predestined to die girl is questionable. Then I realize. Somewhere along the line- perhaps I even knew it when I first saw her face here- I've fallen in love with the quiet huntress. I begin to pace my room, holding my head. How is this possible? My thoughts drift to when I was a twelve-year-old, after I had met the girl with the beautiful smile…

_"Cinna, what'd you do to get Snow up in arms?" Maya muttered, really only half interested. She sat on the shiny desk in our room, looking out the window at the unnaturally colored sky. I laid on my stomach on the floor, head on my arms, quiet as usual. As she spoke, I thought of the girl I had given the candy to and broke into a smile. She had been like a little doll, but in a good way. My sister cleared her throat and I looked up to see her almost incredulous expression. "What hey, Cinna, you're smiling. Tell me the occasion, please."_

_ "Nothing." I murmured quietly. "I was just thinking about that girl in District 12." She nodded slowly in recognition, tapping her fingers on the desk as she bit her bottom lip._

_ "Ah, her, I know who you mean. I was surprised at you, Cinna; you actually came out of your shell for a few seconds. You don't even share your candy with me." Maya grinned and mock-pouted as I rolled my eyes._

_ "She was special." I replied, tracing the patterns on the wall with my fingertip. "Kind of like a little sister. I wonder if I'll see her again…"_

_ "Don't hold your breath, kid. I think they'll guard us like we're gold from now on. The president seems kind of uptight, don't you think? Or is it just me?"_

_ "It's not just you." I told her, closing my eyes. "Maybe you're wrong, Maya. I'll just keep hoping. I'd like to see her when she gets older."_

_ "Maybe I am. I still say give it two days and you'll forget all about her. Stuff never lasts long, Cin." My sister shrugged and hopped off the desk, heading towards the door. "Anyway, I'm hungry. I'll bring you back something." My response was barely audible as I drifted off, the little girl's voice still in my head._

I hadn't thought about that day in so long. Now it is obvious to me that I definitely do not think of Katniss as a little sister, nor is she a little doll. She is- should be- _mine._

Right now, I decide that I am not going to let her face this alone. It doesn't matter what little I can do, I'll do something. For her and for me, because I could not live with myself knowing that I let the one I love go off to war without giving some recognition I cared. My actions start now.

And maybe, just maybe, she'll get through this and end up alive.


	7. Uncomfortable Normalcy

**A/N- I do apologize for my absence, decided to hate me for a little while. ****Also known as I was an idiot and lost my password**** In the future, I'm not going to promise update times, because it seems like the world hates me. XD **

** Thank you to everyone who's reviewed and please keep them coming- Cinna will give you virtual cookies. I have to give a big thank you to Kat.R.777 who's been exceedingly helpful in inspiring me and et cetera. Anyway, even if it's just a couple of sentences, please review or message me with what you think!**

** Cinna's POV because I've already established that I find it impossible to write as Katniss****.**

...And please don't hate me because this is so short?

**I'll take this time to reply to some reviews: **

**Kat R. : Your review was more than just rambling, it really helped. I'm not going to spend a lot of time replying here, but just suffice it to say you pointed out a lot of things I missed. Some of the parts you were confused about, I'd recommend going to read again, but that's only like a bare minimum percent. The rest of your critique was right on the money and I thank you. **

**And yes; as you'll see in this chapter, I didn't intend Cinna to fall head over heels immediately. He seems to be the type that would be kind of indecisive at first, if that makes any sense. And as for emotional development, I'm working on that too and you'll see something rather big in a later chapter Thanks again for reviewing!**

**don't be scared of the dark: Why is it you've actually put that couple in my head now? XD **

The morning breaks with a kind of dreary foreboding that has me murmuring a groan before I even slide out of bed. Today we take the train to the main sector of the Capitol- all the tributes, their mentors and their prep teams. I already have the distinct feeling that this trip is going to be utter hell. With an irritated sigh, I sit up and pull a shirt over my head. The rustle of the fabric on my skin reminds me of yesterday morning, and I suddenly am thrown out of my annoyance-induced daze.

Ah, yes. Today I am transported along with District 12's tributes and, more importantly, Katniss. At her name, both confusion and determination fill me at once. I'm half thinking that yesterday's rush of emotion- of _love_- was triggered by frustration. As I think this, the more likely it seems. I can't love this girl. Though there are no legitimate rules set against it by the Capitol, I think it'd be frowned upon for a tribute and her stylist to...I quickly shake this off. This probably doesn't even apply to me. Quickly, so as not to get myself to befuddled, I banish the thought from my mind. Dragging a comb through my hair, I slip into my shoes and retreat into the hallway.

The halls are alive with the rest of the tribute prep teams and assorted others. I see an Avox ducking through the passageways, a pile of clothes tucked in the crook of her elbow. A pang of sympathy and anger hits me, the feeling starting to eat an uncomfortable hole in my stomach. I descend to the breakfast hall down a different route than I usually take, my presence elsewhere as my fingers glide over the gilded banister of the spiral staircase.

The hall is more crowded than usual, and even before I get to the designated dining room I see that things are hectic. Peeta looks almost pathetically solemn and I feel some discomfort towards him, my empathy comprehending what it is he feels. Katniss shows her normal demeanor, which is to say that her long, dark hair falls over her face as she leans over her hot chocolate, no particular expression to be shown on her face. An odd kind of buzzing replaces the acid in my stomach, but I avoid it for the time being. Effie is surprisingly quiet, but I can hear her muttering to herself about how she had better have gotten a good district this time. Haymitch actually appears sober and is gazing subconsciously at his two pickings, seeming not all focused. I clear my throat as I sit down and everyone looks up, the latter a bit later.

"Good morning, Cinna." Katniss tells me, seeming to relax a little. I smile at her as Peeta graciously passes me a roll dripping with honey. Thanking the boy, I commence eating the roll and a small bowl of fruit, half wishing for some hot chocolate myself. Haymitch looks up at me, focused with a kind of eerie lockdown on my face.

"Well, Cinna, we have our work cut out for us. You and Portia teach them to be pretty, I teach them how to stay alive. This should be interesting." His bluntness is expected to me, but Effie frowns, her bright crimson lips pursing in a disapproving frown.

"Haymitch, do you have to discuss such utterly _dismal_ things over breakfast? Some of us would like peaceful dreams."

"Your beauty sleep is the last thing on my mind right now." Haymitch says callously. I have to fight the urge to laugh. Effie scoffs and returns to her tea, sipping like it'll hurt her if her mouth touches the rim too extensively. Peeta is not so refined and hides a laugh behind a fake cough. I have to grin at him.

However, no juice or pastry can rid our stomach of the deep, gnawing hunger of not knowing. Not knowing what will happen in these Games, not knowing if Peeta or Katniss will survive. What's even worse is the knowing that there is nothing we can do about the ineveitable result. One of these two is going to die. I suppose it's best that I accept that now, but I can't seem to. A lump rises in my stomach and I mentally scold myself for being so sentimental. I've always been the type to...well, not exactly despise violence, but to take an almost personal offense whenever someone or something gets hurt in my presence.

So maybe my reaction of blatant nerves, almost fear, when we board the train and I see the anxious eyes of the tributes is normal. But that doesn't make me feel any better about it.


	8. Author's Note

**A/N: I'm trying to pick this story back up. Apologies for the long, unannounced hiatus, but, for the moment, this story is officially ****_off hiatus._**


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